Winter's Rage
by V. M. Rodriguez
Summary: Kira Argonova died in the year 1917. Given a second chance to live, she must decide whether to hang on to the past life that was so cruelly taken away from her or let go and begin her new life as one of the most notorious immortal killers in history.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**: Alright, so this story is pretty basic in the summary. Basically about a Russian girl-turned-vampire during the Russian Revolution/World War I, and this is one of my first Historical Fiction works, so I apologize if its inaccurate! (Though some of it it supposed to be). Anyways, I hope you enjoy and review. _

_~V.M.R._

* * *

My last day as a human was one of the most unsuspecting and normal days of my life.

I got up in the blue-black coldness of the morning and heaved chunks of wood from the cellar to the fireplace in one of the many parlor rooms in the Winter Palace. I stood watching the flames crackle and snap the splintering wood and reveled in the glow the warmth cast across my face. After that, I decided to look out the large floor-to-ceiling window that let in all the early morning light. I had always been the earliest riser in my family. They said that when I was a baby I would be up and blabbering before the clock struck five thirty.

I looked at the large longcase clock and saw that it was indeed before five thirty. I put my hand up against the cold glass of the window and stared as the midnight blue moon shone off the snow. I crouched in front of the fireplace for a few more moments before rising and walking into the Rotunda and staring up at the oculus that let the dim moonlight pour through and illuminate the vestibule. I walked in circles around the Rotunda, running my hands along the pillars that kept it up, humming a soft lullaby to myself that my grandmother sang to me when I was a baby.

I walked around the Palace and when the clock struck six I went up to the room I shared with my sister and my aunt to slip on the warmest boots I could find and a hat and scarf across the bottom half of my face. I arrived in the Winter Palace's gardens and strolled, admiring the snowflakes that dripped in tiny crystals from the barren trees, creating small frozen puddles on the cobblestone ground, sleeking the pathways over with a lustrous sheen.

When I turned a corner, I saw my brother, Matvey, leaning against a tree, looking almost catatonic as he stared off into the distance and back up at the sky.

Like me, Matvey loved waking up early in the mornings. Although he usually did that to be by himself. I'm not sure why, but Matvey liked being by himself and was the quietist out of all my siblings. He was a brooding and lurking figure, usually shielding away in the shadows. I tip-toed away from the gardens, leaving him in the quiet of the early morning. I walked back into the Palace and up the main staircase before glancing outside the tall windows. The sun had risen.

At nine o'clock, my entire family began to cook alongside the other servants who had stayed in the Winter Palace long before we came here. We cooked stacks of _blini_—a thin Russian pancake made from buckwheat—and once it was served, I smeared mine entirely with sour cream, just as I loved it. My sister Mildred wrinkled her nose at me and spread hers with jam while drinking her tea.

Nearing the afternoon, I did small chores around the Palace. I cleaned, dusted, arranged flowers, and kindled the necessary fireplaces with coke to make the rooms warm. I organized the rooms and helped my sister and my aunt fix up our own room.

When the sun began to leave its center point in the sky, I was in the library, clearing the dust away from the glass cabinets which held the thick assortments of books. I opened one cabinet after another and flipped through pages of books from different places. I found one in English, which I could proudly read, and was surprised to find one in Latin.

Unfortunately, I can't read Latin.

At around three o'clock, I began to study. I went straight into mathematics with my sister studying by my side. As I scowled at the numbers in front of me, my older brother named Andrei came and flicked Mildred's pin, the diamond and sapphire brooch our grandmother gave her. She threw him a glare as she harshly slapped his arm.

Despite Andrei having been the oldest out of our sibling unit, he was the happiest and the most immature. It was a trait he shared with my other brother, Alexei. Shortly after Andrei left, Matvey came and chatted with my sister. Mildred was the only one who could really make Matvey comfortable and smile.

After studying, the sun began to set, meaning dinner was to be served.

It was simple. Borsch with pirozhki. Beetroot soup and stuffed buns. We all ate together. I remember it clearly. My sister was on my left, like she always was, and my brother Alexei was on my right. Matvey was next to Mildred and Andrei was next to Alexei. My mother and father sat across from us with my grandmother and grandfather on their left and my aunt and uncle on their right. The other servants seated themselves around the table randomly.

Despite the turmoil in Russia in 1917, we attempted to seek a sort of sanctuary in the Palace. We shut our windows to the city of Petrograd and busied ourselves with chores for the Tsar we knew would never return. Nicholas and his family had been gone for a considerable amount of weeks and I missed his daughter, Anastasia, who had been my best friend during our young years.

I had been with her in the Alexander Palace when the family and their servants were placed under house arrest in February and I had been with her when they were supposed to leave to safety to Tobolsk in Siberia. She had hugged me and tears were on her face and mine as well. We said nothing, but what was there left to say? Only to hope that one of us would live through this and tell our children. When she left, I cried the entire night, somehow knowing I'd never see her again.

I remember reading a letter she wrote to me. "_Goodby. Don't forget us_."

I smiled silently, ignoring the spelling error. She was at Yekaterinburg now and I hoped that she was safe. I knew someday the Bolsheviks would near here, but I always thought we'd be out of the city by that time. My family's stay in the Winter Palace was supposed to be secret, and, just like the Romanovs, we were also supposed to be transported to safety. Alexander Kerensky, the man who moved Anastasia and her family to Siberia, had promised us a safe location as well. He said that us being near the Romanovs was dangerous, which is why he had us transported to the Winter Palace for temporary residency. We have been here for eight months now.

That last day, I remember looking out a window, growing weary of the sad-looking water of the Neva River, and turning into various corridors before reaching the Armorial Hall.

I had been in here once during my childhood. I was thirteen and working in the kitchen as a party ravaged through the Hall. I peeked through the hall and was amazed to see the hall filled with beautiful lights, a plethora of multi-colored dresses that sparkled across the dance floor, men in well-pressed uniforms, and people laughing.

_Laughing_.

I remembered those laughs so clearly, as if I would go insane if I let go of that memory. It was a reminder that not everything was sad, not everything was falling apart. People still laughed in this world, people still joked and smiled. If I didn't remind myself of that small fact every dark morning I woke up, then I might as well be miserable for the rest of my life.

I walked into the Hall and looked at the vast emptiness. Glancing out the windows, I looked into the night sky that loomed in the trees in the courtyard and the entrance to the Palace Square that lay beyond it. I looked up at the clean white ceilings which held two large chandeliers of immense ornate design with two smaller chandeliers hanging on either side. The golden pillars that surrounded the room glowed dimly in the chandelier's light and seemed to cast a glare on the majority of the windows, making it a tad bit difficult to see past my own reflection.

I cocked my head to the side and stared at myself a while.

I was small, a bit smaller than the average fifteen-year-old, with long brown hair that had a slight wave to it as it spilled past my shoulders and lay loosely around my head. My eyes were the same as my grandfather's: strikingly blue against the light skin and dark hair. My eyes seemed a bit dim, as if I hadn't been sleeping well, and my face retained the same sleepy quality. I tried to animate my face by scowling at my reflection, sticking out my tongue, making outrageous faces.

I heard a soft laugh and turned to see my grandfather, Kol, near the entrance. Kol was my father's father, his wife being my father's mother, and along with his wife were the only grandparents I had left. My mother's parents died when I was young and I didn't remember them all too clearly.

As I looked at my grandfather, I started to notice the similarities he and my father held. His skin was light like his, though his hair was dusted with gray, streaks of brown found under the well-treated hair. His eyes were still young, but held a wisdom that I hoped mine would someday. He looked younger than his age and at times, people often confused him and father for being brothers. He always laughed and said they were only trying to flatter him.

He seemed tired, just like me, though the laughter still slipped from his lips.

I frowned at him and he tried to press his lips in a hard line. He came forward and squeezed my shoulder.

"What are you doing, _kisa_?" he said. I shrugged, smiling at the pet name he always addressed me by.

"I don't know. I'm thinking."

He raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

I shrugged again. "How we ended up here. So secluded."

He gave me a sad smile and put his arm around my shoulder. "Come. Walk with me, talk with me."

He led me to the edge of the room and we began walking the perimeter of the Armorial Hall.

"Things aren't the same," I said.

"No, they aren't."

I furrowed my brow. "You're supposed to say '_Don't worry, Kira, it will all change_.'"

"_Kisa_, you know I am a man of honesty. Especially towards his granddaughter."

He suddenly turned his head and coughed violently into his arm. I narrowed my eyes, hating the sounds of his lungs viciously clearing themselves. Usually, after one of these coughing fits, he would excuse himself and would go out for a walk. He'd come back completely refreshed, but the worst part was watching him go.

Despite his youthful look, I knew he was getting old. I knew that by the time I was forty, I wouldn't have my beloved grandfather by my side anymore.

"Are you alright, _dedulya_?"

"_Da_, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Maybe you should go for one of your walks—?"

"No, no." He shook his head and frowned. "It's much too late. I can't now. I'll go in the morning."

Another hacking cough interrupted him. I slapped his back and his coughs turned into strangled laughs.

"You hit me any harder, you might break my back!"

I solicited a small smile and his coughs eventually cleared. He took my hand softly and squeezed it reassuringly. I felt like a little girl again, when he used to ask me to accompany him to the market to buy food for the kitchen and we would walk hand-in-hand into the streets. Even then, things had begun to grow wry and stressful. The look on everyone's faces was colder than the fiercest winter and I felt guilty about how people were dying of hunger, and here I was buying the food people couldn't afford or had just simply ran out of.

But now, in the light of the Hall, I was here with my grandfather, talking with him of small things that seemed to crowd the silence in the room.

"Why didn't we go with the Romanovs?" I asked. He sighed.

"You know very well that it's dangerous for us to be near them."

"So? We went with them when they were in the Alexander Palace, and it was dangerous then. Why couldn't we go to Siberia with them?"

He looked at me harshly and his voice took on a biting tone.

"Kira, Alexander Kerensky has gone through a great deal of sacrifice and trouble to hide us here in secrecy. He is trying to protect us and he knows that we being near them will only put our family in more danger."

I let go of his hand and only shook my head. "I think being here is more dangerous," I mumbled.

He looked at me for a moment. We had reached the other side of the room and we stood near a large window, the light of the chandeliers bouncing off the glass. His lips pressed into a hard line.

"I believe you're right."

Those four words struck a hard core in me. Whenever an adult agrees with you, you feel either two things: elation or fear. And you never feel them at the same time. I only stared up at him.

"Why?"

He smiled softly and ruffled my hair. "Why are you asking 'why'? I'm only saying I agree with you."

"But—"

"Don't fret so much, Kira." He patted my shoulder. "We'll be in a safer place soon. All Mr. Kerensky has to do is arrange a place for us and we will be safe in no time."

I nodded and we slowly started walking again, coming closer to the next window.

"So, when do you think—?"

_BAM! _

The deafening sound of bullets shooting through the glass window in front of us resounded through out the whole Winter Palace.

* * *

_*kisa—pet name in Russian meaning "kitty."_

_*dedulya—meaning "granddaddy" in Russian. _


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **This is the second chapter of this vampire fanfiction. Albeit it is a bit short, I felt that the lasts words were just the correct way to end the chapter. Alright, well reviews are always nice...Enjoy! _

_~V.M.R.**  
**_

* * *

On the night of October 26 in the year 1917, the Bolsheviks came and stormed the Winter Palace.

History said it was a relatively bloodless siege that was marked as a defining moment when the Soviet state was born. However, only a few knew the truth.

The Argonov family, the most entrusted and valuable servants that have been serving the House of Romanov for generations, had been inside the Winter Palace as a place of temporary residency when the armed Bolsheviks arrived. Believing that the death of the Argonovs would send a secret warning to the former Tsar and his family, shots were fired and lives were stolen.

Their deaths were never made public, and it was then decreed that no member of the Argonov family survived.

* * *

The minute the glass in front of us exploded, the windows behind us burst as well.

I screamed and clamped my hands over my ears to drown out the harsh cracks of gunshots. I felt tiny shards of crystal cut through my arms and the surface of my hands and face as I immediately fell forward to the ground, diving forward and curling up in a ball, shrieking so fiercely that it hurt my own ears.

My grandfather had is hands on my shoulders and was ushering me to my feet. I hadn't realized my eyes were squeezed shut and I was afraid to open them. I let go of my ears and heard the whooshing sounds of bullets being fired through the windows.

"_GRANDPA!_" I screeched.

"I'm here, Kira! I'm right here, I've got you." His hand was tightly bound around my right wrist. His grip hurt me, but I was too frightened to take much notice.

Before I knew it, I was on my feet, scrambling across the floor, running across the room, escaping the place I once found to be so peaceful.

Before reaching the door, I felt something boiling hot blast through my lower leg. I cried out in pain and my right leg crumpled beneath me. I desperately held on to my grandfather's shoulder so I wouldn't collapse to the glass-littered ground.

"Kira?" I could hear the slight panic in his voice, but I didn't answer. I was determined to keep moving. Just keep moving…

I pulled myself up and hobbled through the door with his arms around my shoulders. I tried to ignore the pain in my leg, but it was spreading like fire and every time my foot touched the ground, a scorching pain drove up my leg, slicing through my muscles, making it hard to move.

"Grandpa…" I hissed. I could hear shouting outside and some more shots. I felt his hand close over mine.

"I'm here, _kisa_, I'm here…"

I don't know how we got here, but we were suddenly behind one of the many staircases in the Palace. He sat me down and propped me up against the wall. A gust of wind suddenly blew through and I heard the chorus of marching feet whisper across the tiled floors. I began panicking and tried to crawl away, but my grandfather held my place. I looked up and he held a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence. He leaned close to my ear and whispered, "On my count."

He pointed to the open door, just yards away from us, which led into the maze of the rest of the Palace. I looked back at him and I nodded. My heart pounded in my ears and I was afraid the Bolsheviks could hear it. I heard a jargon of Russian curses coming from gruff throats, the voices dangerously close by. The bile rose to my throat.

_If I don't make it to the doors…_

I tried to steady my shaking hands.

…_I'll die._

I didn't dare look down at my leg yet. Instead, I looked up at my grandfather, his blue eyes hard and unreadable. He looked down on me and created a soundless word.

_One…_

I understood. I slowly drew my feet under my knees and winced at the pain in my right leg. I tried shaking it off; focusing on the gilded doors just seconds away from me that promised me my life.

_Two…_

Focus. Focus on the gilded design. Focus on the brass door knobs, the intricate silver swirls carved gracefully into the gold. Don't pay attention to the feet coming closer to you, don't pay attention to the voices, they won't shoot unless you're fast… Run fast.

_Three_.

_Run fast. _

In less than a second, I had sprung to my feet and sprinted towards the doors for my life.

"There!" I heard a man shout in Russian. "There! Shoot them!"

I heard the sound of bullets pound against the golden doors and ducked my head. Once I ducked behind a door, I stretched out my hand, dreading the feel of a bullet tearing through the flesh, and instead felt my grandfather's warm, reassuring grasp. I pulled him through the entranceway.

"Shut the doors!"

I curled my hands around the doorknobs and dragged them forward, their weight almost unbearable. The booming sound they made when they closed briefly sang through the large chambers before my grandfather's voice broke the silence.

"Bar it!"

"With what?"

"Anything!"

My hands shook furiously as I tried to search for some sort of metal to slip through the curling doorknobs. My head whirled to a small dining set placed near a window. I immediately recognized it as the place where Anastasia and I used to eat and talk and watched as the sun settled over the horizon.

Without a moment's hesitation, I limped towards the set, grabbed a chair by the legs, and smashed it over the crystal table. The fragile wood broke and the crystal was hideously shattered now, but that was the least of my worries. I had a large fragment of a leg and a backrest in my hands and I snapped it over the edge of the table, the chair's leg positioned in my hand like a club. I quickly hobbled back to the door and slid the leg through the knobs, my grandfather piling another long piece of the chair through the doors. Just as I finished positioning the wood in place, the door lurched forward.

I jumped back, frozen in fear as furious fists pounded against the doors and outraged cries came from the other side, muffled through the doors. The wood holding the doors closed began to snap. My grandfather grasped my arm.

"Run!"

The minute I turned, I could hear the explosion of soldiers bursting through the entrance. I could hear a distinct '_click'_ as they loaded their guns, but no one was firing. Nevertheless, their feet were pounding grotesquely against the delicate marble floor, their voices hideously thick as they ground their way through my ears.

My leg was aching painfully and I could feel the blood soaking through my clothes. The bullet was lodged in my lower calf, I could feel it, and it took all my effort to run at a quick pace. The pain shot through my entire right leg and I was crying out from the pain. My grandfather was murmuring comforting words to me in Russian, but I couldn't hear them properly over the roar of angry Bolsheviks in pursuit behind us.

We were running through one of the corridors on the lower level; the expanse of the corridor was carpeted with esteemed colors and designs that had been resting here for centuries. I looked back and saw my blood lightly staining the carpets. In a sort of delirious panic, I yanked my arm out of my grandfather's grasp and fell to the floor, my hands working over the carpet like a blind man, trying to cover the trail of blood.

"Kira, what in hell are you doing?" my grandfather hissed. I could hear boots making their way up the corridor, but for some odd reason, my brain wasn't responding to the approaching danger. I was simply mortified that my blood had stained the carpet.

My grandfather's hands grabbed onto my shoulders, his grip harsh as he hoisted me to my feet and virtually dragged me through the beautifully flamboyant passageway. My senses of temporary calm were slowly ebbing away from me and the fear and panic came creeping back into my head.

_Why the hell did I do that? _

The lurching turns in the Palace were excruciating, slowing down our speed, the revolutionary shouts of the men skulking closer. I had the urge to scream, but I knew once I did they would fire.

With a sudden shock of speed, we made a quick turn around another corridor and hid behind the wall of the hallway. I peeked over my shoulder to watch as a large group of armed men ran through the corridor we were just in, thinking we were still in their close sights. My heart thundered furiously in my ears, the blood pumping painfully through my hands and head, making the stinging pain in my leg even more concentrated than before. I grimaced, but made no sound.

I looked to my grandfather and his eyes only conveyed one message: _Keep moving_.

He took my hand and we silently shuffled through the open chamber we had landed in. In the sudden quiet, thoughts of my family suddenly flooded my mind. Where were they? Were they safe? Would I have to leave them here?

My breath hitched and my grandfather looked back at me, the composure in his eyes searing as he placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Don't worry, Kira," he whispered to me. "Don't worry, everything will be alright. Just a few more moments and you'll be alright. Just a few more moments, I promise…"

I nodded and with my newfound determination, I gently pushed him forward. A signal to keep moving. As we ran quietly through the dark chamber, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't leave the Palace unless my family was following close behind me.

_I won't leave them here. _

A brush of hustling steps.

I gulped in a lungful of air, hoping it wouldn't be my last, and braced myself for the sounds of bullets firing through the chamber. Instead, I saw a lithe figure lunge at my grandfather. My first instinct was to yank at the attacker, so I reached forward and grabbed a mass of hair and pulled it by the roots. I was about to push the figure back, but I suddenly heard a faint voice whimper my name. "Kira? Stop, it's me!"

My hands released the hair and instead embraced the figure. The person I thought was an enemy was my sister. Her hands clung to the back of my head, holding me close to her as I gently petted her hair. I wished I could've stayed in my sister's hold forever, but the sound of heavy, unfamiliar feet against the tiled floors had to shatter the small harbor of peace I had found.

"Follow me!" My grandfather commanded. He pulled us both by our wrists and with quick steps, led us into one of the many bedchambers dedicated to Empress Maria Alexandrovna. The room was littered with flecks of dust that floated through the air like ash after a fire. The moon shined through the large window, casting an eerie glow over the entire room, illuminating it with a faint silver glow. He locked the door behind us and led us to the boudoir, which was the same color scheme as the adjacent bedchamber: royal blue. A very pretty royal blue with paisley-like designs decorating every inch of the small room along with the dark strips of mahogany. On the far left wall lay an indention, a niche, and in that niche hung a neglected picture of Nicholas II, Anastasia's father and Russia's former Tsar.

Somehow, just by looking at that picture, I knew that we were all doomed. No one would be spared. Soon, we would all just be dusty old pictures on the walls of forgotten rooms. . .waiting. . .waiting for someone to finally enter and acknowledge that we once existed. I shivered at the thought, but I wasn't necessarily afraid. I only hoped that someone would remember the name "Argonov" once we were all gone.

I looked over as my grandfather approached a large wooden wardrobe set across from the entrance. He reached above the elegant doors, yanking out a block of wood from the polished structure. The piece of wood was hollow, almost like a small drawer, and in the hollow space laid dozens of tiny vials, filled with a dark liquid that seemed oddly thick and gooey against the glass of the vial. He gathered a handful in his hands and placed it in the pocket of his trousers. He then plucked out two from the concave space and held them out to us.

"Drink it."

Mildred immediately complied and so did I. It never occurred to me that it might be poison until the liquid's metallic taste oozed over my tongue. I gagged and tried to spit it out, but my grandfather's hand closed over my chin and tilted my head back, forcing the thick, disgusting fluid back into my throat.

"No! Don't spit it out! Swallow it. Do you hear me? _Swallow it!_" His voice was terrifyingly firm and, looking into his rigid blue eyes, I had no choice but to gulp down the liquid. Once he felt my throat contract, he released me.

"W-what was it?" I stuttered, afraid of his answer. He didn't look at me when he answered.

"It's medicine. It will help to calm you."

I looked up at Mildred, her expression as equally confused as mine. She furrowed her brow.

"Medicine?" Her mouth formed the word as if she'd never spoken it before. He turned back to us, his stare frighteningly rigid, his eyes resembling blocks of ice.

"It will help you." His voice was stone cold and slow. "If anything happens to you, it will help you."

I had no idea what this meant and it scared me the way his eyes were locked onto ours. As if trying to convince himself by looking at us that, yes, what he was doing was right. It was affirmative. It was certain. And it made terror bubble under my skin.

He scooped the remaining vials in his hand and stored them away in his pockets. Soon after, his left hand was brought down on my shoulder, his right on my sister's. He looked directly into our eyes.

"Listen to me." His_ voice_…the authority and harshness in it was indescribable, completely menacing, a predator's murmur. It sent shivers down my spine.

"You two need to leave. You need to run and get out. _Now_." His tone was low and calmly measured. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I was speechless, but my sister, who had always been the most outspoken one, took her stand.

"No. Not without you or the others."

"Hear me well, Mildred, you two have a better chance of living than any one of us now."

His words shocked me. How could he say that? How could he have so little faith in his family? And what exactly made our chances of survival higher than the others? I found myself a bit angry at his statement and blurted out, "We're not leaving you here!"

His gaze became dauntingly icy.

"I am not _asking_ you. I am _telling_ you. Leave this place now. Run and don't stop running until you are at a train station and out of Petrograd. Get out of the Palace as fast as you can and don't look back. Don't look back for anything. Not for me, not for your parents, not for _anyone_. Do you understand?"

Mildred's eyes had filled with tears and mine were widened in alarm. I couldn't leave my family! I _wouldn't_. It was not an option for me!

"Come with us, grandpa," Mildred choked out. "Please, don't do this to us!"

My grandfather's expression wavered, beaten, but still, he quickly corrected himself and refused to let his uncertainty show.

"I'll only slow you down, _dushen'ka_." He reached out and gently stroked her face, gently brushing away the tears that ran down her cheeks. "They'd catch me. All I want is for _you_ to be safe, and you will be. Trust me."

Oh, God! What was happening here? This was complete madness!

"No," I said, astounded at the firmness and strength of my own voice. My grandfather laid both his hands on my shoulders.

"_Kisa_…"

I shook my head.

"We're not leaving you! _I'm_ not leaving you! Not until everyone in my family is on a train out of Petrograd!" I could feel my throat tighten. My eyes stung. Damn it, I would not cry! There was nothing to cry for! My family would live. I knew they would!

"_Kisa_, please. Don't make this harder than it has to be." His hand rested in my hair. "I would rather die knowing you'd be alive than take a bullet to the head unknowing of your fate."

A soft sob escaped Mildred. The rapid rate of my heart throbbed against the wound in my leg, making it hard to concentrate. I clenched my fists tightly, angrily, my nails digging into the skin.

"Don't talk like that! Leaving without any of you is not an option! I won't—!"

He laid a quick kiss on my head. "Go, Kira. Go with your sister."

I shook my head, fighting against the sobs shaking in my throat. Images of my brothers and my parents flashed before my eyes, causing my breathing to halt and my heart to cease. I would die before leaving here without them. _I would die!_

"Grandpa—"

Before I could finish, Mildred gently rested her hand on my arm and stared directly into our grandfather's eyes, the tears running and prominent against her face.

"Yes, _dedulya_." I was amazed at the fact that her voice was firm, steadfast, fearless. Our grandfather seemed taken back, first only staring at Mildred's face. Her lips were shaped in a grim line, her cheeks adorned with bitter tears. Then, he slowly smiled, took a step forward, and kissed her head.

"If I don't—"

"_No_." Mildred's voice shook in determination. "I'll see you soon."

Again, my grandfather was stunned. So was I. This was exactly what happened the day Anastasia left! Before she left, we had made futile promises to each other that we would eventually run into each other in the streets of a peaceful Russia. A Russia where there was no such thing as the Bolsheviks or the Great War. A Russia where we would laugh, reminisce, and grin in relief at the things we had lived through.

It was vain and we knew it. But we still did it. Just to make ourselves feel better. Just to make the goodbye less dismal.

And now, the same goes for my grandfather. I absolutely refused to believe that this was the last night of his life. I refused to believe that this was the last time I would see him. The tears pricked forcefully at my eyes, but I bit them back. I looked up at him, still holding onto my sister and looking into her eyes.

Mildred nodded once. "I'll see you soon."

My grandfather's lips formed into a shaky smile and he nodded sadly. "_Da_. Yes, Mildred."

She suddenly threw her arms around him and he quickly returned the embrace with a strong hold. He rocked her back and forth, as if she was a small child, whispering things to her in Russian, promising that yes, this will not be the last time he sees her.

She pulled away after a few moments and turned to face me. She angrily dragged her arm across her eyes, wiping away fresh tears.

"Go on, Kira. Say goodbye to your grandfather. We're going now."

I nodded, biting my trembling lip. Her eyes were red from despair, but her voice conveyed her words as if we were going to see him in a few hours. Another fruitless farewell. I didn't have the courage to look up into my grandfather's eyes and instead launched myself against him, breathing in his scent of books and fresh winter air, storing the scent in the corridors of my memory. His hand came softly against my hair and he leaned forward towards my ear.

"You'll be fine, Kira. I know you will be."

Hearing his smooth voice was too much. The tears broke through and ran down my face in a shameful cascade. I shook my head against his chest. Who the hell was I fooling? Why was I lying to myself? Why was it so damn hard to say goodbye? Why did I even have to _say_ goodbye?

I grasped onto him, prolonging the last moment I had with him before pulling away. He caught the side of my face and laid a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Don't cry, _kisa_. It will be alright."

This was it, wasn't it? I looked up into his eyes—the eyes I inherited—and I nodded.

"I'll see you. I'll see you soon." My voice was lost in my tears, but he understood me. He smiled sadly, his eyes filling with an unspeakable anguish.

"Yes, yes you will."

He quickly gathered us both in his arms before gently wiping the tears off both our faces.

"_Do svidaniya_—" he had begun to say. No! Not that dreaded word! I shook my head fiercely, the sobs finally breaking through.

"I'll see you soon, grandpa!" I interrupted. "I will! I _will_ see you soon. Promise me!"

He nodded. "I promise, Kira. I promise."

I felt my sister's hand grasp my own, squeezing it reassuringly. She nodded to him, completely refusing to say goodbye. My grandfather's brow smoothed, his eyes transforming from a quivering sadness to his usual calm. His smile became genuine.

"You'll see me soon. Really soon. I promise…" Those were the last words I heard him say. Mildred respectively shut the boudoir's door behind her, her hand lingering on the knob after she closed it, her head bowed against the dusty wood. She still had her other hand in mine and I could feel the tremors through her muscles. Suddenly, she looked up and turned away from the door, pulling me along with her.

We crossed the old Empress's room and paused in front of her bedroom door. Mildred looked down at my bleeding leg, which began to grow suspiciously numb.

"You're hurt, Kira."

I nodded. "I know."

"We should check that, don't you think?"

I stared at the wooden door before me. "Yes…but not now."

I heard her sigh. "Alright."

We stared up at the door for a few more moments before she rested her hand on the knob, turning it slowly, but not opening it just yet. She glanced at me, locking her dark eyes with mine.

"On the count of three, I open this door and we run. No matter what, we stick together, understand?"

I sighed. "Yes."

The hand on the knob shook a little. "One…"

I squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Two…"

She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. I felt oddly calm despite the rapid pulse of my heart. I took one deep gulp of air before we locked gazes once more.

"Three!"

She pushed the door open and we stumbled right into the darkness of the corridor.

* * *

_*dushen'ka: Russian word for "darling" or "my little soul" _

_* Do svidaniya: meaning "Goodbye" in Russian. _


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Sorry it has taken me so long to update, school and other things cut into my writing time. Anyways, here is the third chapter. Enjoy!_

_~V.M.R._

* * *

The darkness was overbearing. It drowned out my senses, blocking my eyes, clogging my hearing, and tightening my throat. I began to panic, but the reassuring clutch of my sister's hand was enough to keep me calm. We ran blindly through the blinding blackness of the corridor before suddenly halting, hearing the ominous sound of marching boots coming towards us.

"This way!" Mildred hissed.

She pulled me into a corridor on the left; the walls were adorned with golden filigree-framed portraits of Romanov family members. I looked up to suddenly meet the painted eyes of a delicate photograph of Anastasia. It took all my willpower not to freeze in my place and stare at the photograph. I had to fight to prevent lamenting over it, reading the sketched eyes for a source of hope.

Where was hope now? How could there be hope _anywhere_ now?

Mildred tugged on my arm harshly, the sudden force of the movement causing my feet to tangle over the loose carpet and making me trip over my own feet. My injured leg slammed against the hard floor under the carpet and I let out a small, throaty yelp of pain. Mildred shushed me loudly.

"Kira, get up!" she said through clenched teeth.

"Quiet! I'm trying!" I growled.

I got up, but the pain in my leg painfully cracked into my leg and I could no longer run with both feet. I curled my fingers around Mildred's shoulder, my nails digging through the fabric of her nightgown, and limped as quickly as I could down the hall. We came to the end of the corridor, which introduced us to a small staircase, the bottom was concealed in darkness. A foreign terror grasped at my throat. I shook my head frantically, but Mildred urged me to follow her down the stairs.

Each concrete step was excruciating, the veins and tendons in my right foot were screaming in agony. I locked my jaw and refused to let out even a whimper.

"You okay?" Mildred asked tentatively as we suddenly stopped in the middle of the staircase.

I nodded, avoiding opening my mouth. I knew that if I did, I would start screaming. The pounding in my head wasn't helping the pain and the fact that I could be shot at any moment kept floating back into my brain, twisting my stomach into my chest.

I let out a silent breath of relief when Mildred and I made it down the staircase safely. Mildred supported my weight as we turned quietly to our right, going down a narrow staircase, the windows small and letting in only tiny bouts of moonlight.

We froze suddenly and I felt horribly sick when I heard loud, rough voices not too far ahead of us. Mildred's body stiffened immensely.

It was _them_. And they were coming closer.

There was no time to do anything else but run back the opposite direction. Mildred's hand flew to my wrist and she half-dragged-half-carried me back to the staircase. Our feet were loud against the steps, catching the attention of the voices that were coming towards us, and soon I heard them in pursuit behind us.

We scrambled to the top of the stairs and ran down the corridor we had just escaped from. It was exhausting to keep up with my sister with only one good leg, but it was either that or hobble like a crone and get shot. We ran down a wide winding staircase which led out into one of the many opulent open spaces of the Winter Palace, which were mainly used when the Tsar and his family simply wanted to walk around their home.

We headed for the open doors ahead of us, but I was surprised when Mildred made no gesture to move. I looked up at her and my heart stopped. She was staring straight ahead, her mouth gaping and her eyes filled with blatant horror. I followed her gaze and realized what she was staring at.

The worst scenario of our life played out before our sights, the entire scene lit under the moonlight coming through the large window, like a spotlight on an actor during a scene onstage.

It was our eldest brother, Andrei, struggling against a large sandy-haired man who held him in a strong grasp, surrounded by two other men. One of them, a dark-haired one with a wolfish face, had a rifle in his hands.

"Andrei?" I whispered brokenly.

I could've sworn I said his name quietly enough to avoid attracting any attention, but it was as if he heard my voice calling out to him, loud and clear. His head turned to our direction. The expression on his face was appalling and completely out of place on his usually smiling face. His brows were pulled together in angry confusion and fear, his face was pale, his were pupils dilated like a lost child's.

His eyes locked onto ours for only a second before a deafening shot was fired.

His body crumpled like a paper doll in the rain, the blood gurgled from his mouth as his body slumped then slammed against the cold marble floor.

Mildred screamed. "ANDREI!"

Immediately, three heads whipped to our direction. The one who had been restraining Andrei angrily snatched the rifle out of the original shooter's hands and pointed it at my sister.

"Look out!" I shrieked, yanking Mildred by the arm and knocking her down with me to the ground. The gunshot sounded and burst as it crashed through the window behind us. Mildred was holding the sides of her head and shrieking as her composure was slowly slipping away from her, the reality of the situation beginning to hit her like a violent blow to the head. As for me, I was running on pure adrenaline and had no time to mourn my brother just yet.

The glass scattered around us and I stubbed my palm on a serrated piece of crystal as I hurriedly lifted Mildred to her feet.

"Come on! Keep moving!"

We ran to the door ahead of us and bursted through, falling through yet another winding hallway. This hallway was wider than the rest, decorated with doors on the sides that indicated the Imperial Family's old bedrooms, and I knew that we were coming closer to the Rotunda, which would lead us out to the main entrance and guarantee our freedom.

My lungs were burning and my throat constricted against the cold air I was breathing in. I coughed and could swear I tasted the metallic tang of that "medicine" coming up into my mouth.

Upon a sudden winding turn in the corridor, I looked back just in time to see Mildred being tackled by a dark figure hiding in the shadows. My hand was torn from her and I felt suddenly empty. My anchor had been stripped away from me.

I skidded to a stop and reeled around to face my sister.

The man was struggling with her. His thick arm was wound around her neck in a chokehold. She clawed at him, kicked him, but he still wouldn't let her go. I ran forward to help her, but she shouted for me to stop. That's when he pulled his pistol to her head.

"Go!" she screamed at me.

I shook my head mutely, the event unfolding before me seeming so surreal and dreamlike. The man holding her looked at me and grinned wickedly. One of his canine teeth was silver. That one distinct tooth glinted in the moonlight.

"Go!" Mildred screeched again. The man struggled to keep his pistol in position against her head, but her constant movement made it difficult for him to keep his target. She screamed at me with all her might through his grasp, choking and struggling.

"Say you surrender! Say you surrender!"

The man gave up trying to aim for her head and positioned the pistol to her heart, immediately pulling the trigger. I was given no fair warning.

With one blast, Mildred fell.

"_MILDRED!_"

The murderer turned to face me and an evil grin played out on his face. He made no hesitation and moved towards me, his pistol ready in his hand.

At first, I was too shocked to move or process what just happened. But after seeing my sister's blood create a sickening black pool, I realized that I too would die. I wouldn't die, I wouldn't. That would sully my family's memory forever. I would live for my family if possible.

I turned on my heel, my stomach turning from the previous events, and sprinted down the corridor. I could hear this man's misfired bullets ricochet off the walls and repel against the furnishings. Without thinking, I rounded against another turn and blindly grabbed for a door knob. I slammed the door behind me, locking it, and slowly backed away. I briefly looked around the door and recognized the wall decorations. It was the room that belonged to the Grand Duchess Tatiana, Anastasia's older sister. The room was dark, save for a bit of moonlight seeping from under the closed curtains. I slowly backed away, only to find myself suddenly in a vice grip. An arm latched itself tightly around my torso, the pressure from the hold squeezing my lungs.

I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand suddenly clamped itself over my mouth, muffling my voice. I heard a voice in my ear.

"Shh! Its okay, its okay, don't scream!" A man's voice. "It's okay, it's me."

Alexei.

I slowly turned away from his grip, as if afraid to awaken his panic, and faced him. This young man was indeed my older brother. My happy-go-lucky older brother who's smiled was replaced with a dangerous frown with panic etched in his forehead. He had a bleeding scrape against his chin and a bruise was forming under his right eye.

Without any sense of thought, I threw myself in his arms, trembling madly. He tensed a bit before gradually wrapping his arms around me. He held me too tight.

"Kira, are you okay?" He was trying to be brave, but his voice shook.

"They're dead." I said. The words were quick and stony.

"Who's dead?"

I didn't answer and he seemed to understand. He didn't ask me any further questions, but I could now clearly feel his hands shaking.

"Are you alright?" He asked again. I decided to nod.

"I'm fine." I was surprised at how monotone and distant my voice sounded, as if everything in me had just…vanished.

Now, there was nothing.

Nothing but this room, nothing but my brother's arms around me, nothing but his frantic breath against my ear. Nothing but this never ending darkness.

Mildred was dead.

Andrei had fallen.

Grandpa practically gave away his life to save us.

Now what happens? Where is everything that mattered? What had become of me in such a short time? In only these past few minutes, I had lost almost everything I loved. I gripped onto my brother, determined not to let him go.

But the sound of oncoming footsteps cruelly snapped me back to reality. My brother was shaken, but he reacted almost immediately.

He lifted the edge of the heavy blanket covering the bed, exposing the gaping blackness that consumed the underside of the bed.

"Quick, under here!"

I quickly sank to my knees and crawled under onto my belly. The bottom of the bed was spacious, dark, only a tiny sliver of moonlight creeped under, shining across my eyes. I lay on my stomach, looking out to see my brother's shoes.

"Come here!" I hissed. I stuck my hand out to him, but the fabric he had been holding that allowed me a clear sight outside the bed suddenly fell, like a curtain quickly closing against a stage. I was about to yell out to him, but then I heard the forcing crack of the door being broken down. Through the thin stream that sat between blanket and floor, I could still see a snippet of my brother's shoes slowly backing away towards the opposite side of the room.

_Get under here!_ I wanted to yell.

The door gave way with one forceful blast of a shotgun. Alexei's steps had ceased. After a coiling silence, I heard the heavy clunk of boots slowly make their way towards him.

"Are you frightened, boy?" A sickening voice said. Alexei said nothing and didn't move. The Bolshevik let out a smooth, deep chortle.

"Your family will serve as an example for the ones who truly condemned us…"

"Please, comrade…" Alexei responded desperately. "I mean you no harm."

I wanted nothing more than to ask to be set free. I wanted to throw myself at the man's feet and beg for our lives, but it made me sick with shame just to think of it. Even now, as I listened to Alexei begging the man to show mercy, I wanted to yell at him for showing weakness to the people responsible for our family's demise. But that thought quickly faded in this tense situation.

"Don't shoot me," Alexei said, his voice a tremulous whisper. "_Please_."

I heard the Bolshevik let out a long sigh. The boots slowly advanced to my brother's shoes until they were nearly toe-to-toe.

"Alright," he said. "I won't shoot you."

A brief wind of relief exhaled through my body. That was until I heard a sickening squelch that signaled a blade slicing through flesh. Alexei's choked gasps sounded briefly before I saw his knees plunge to the ground.

The Bolshevik spoke again. "That doesn't mean I will spare you."

His voice was monstrous. It almost sounded like he was _smiling_. A foreign fire spread through me at that moment, an angry blaze that burned away at my insides. I wanted to kill the man who just took Alexei away from me, but a small section of my brain that still held fear kept me under the bend, trembling, watching as the boots let the body slip onto the ground. I couldn't see my brother clearly; all I really knew was that he was now lying motionless on the ground. I was dying to call out to him, hoping that he wasn't dead, but the man's boots were still there.

He mumbled something I couldn't understand. His boots disappeared from my view and I heard them slowly fading in the distance. That's when the constricting silence crept into the room and all I could hear was my pulsing heartbeat.

Was that it? Did I really just watch helplessly as another person I loved died? Was I really the only Argonov who would be spared?

I was afraid to move even an inch of my body, but I knew I couldn't stay under the bed forever. If I stayed here any longer, they'd eventually find me. I slowly dragged myself closer to the curtain of fabric that separated me from the outside and strained my eyesight to connect to Alexei. I wanted to know if he was still possibly alive and breathing, but all I could see were messy crimson spots soaking into the carpet. I tried to control my rapid breathing and swallowed against my dry throat. I slowly opened my mouth to speak.

I whispered, "Alexei?"

Freezing hands suddenly gripped at my ankles. I screamed as I was dragged out from under the bed and struggled against my attacker. I didn't know if this was the same man who killed Alexei, but I got a clear look at his face.

He had dark hair and looked to be in his late twenties with a short-haired rugged beard. He thrashed me around like a little rag doll, gripping at my waist as I kicked in every direction. I screamed unintelligible words in the language of fear, pleading for someone to help me, for someone to hear me. He swung me around and I felt one of his arms wind around my neck while the other formed itself around my head.

I realized that in about one second, he was about to snap my neck like a twig. I could feel the strong muscles in his arm crushing against my esophagus, making it harder to breathe. In a rash decision, I dipped my face into the arm around my neck and bit it as hard as I could, hard enough to draw blood. I heard him cry out and curse at me as he lost his grip on me. I plummeted to the floor, choking and gasping for air, but running for my life nonetheless. I was dizzy from the lack of oxygen and slammed against the wall, knocking over a lamp or two as I desperately ran away.

The wound in my leg began to pulse against my skin. It was an incredibly inopportune time to be succumbing to my bullet wound, but running with a limp was much better than not moving at all. The only problem with running with a limp was that it slowed me down immensely and I could already here my pursuer catching up to me. The only thing going through my head was:

_Get out! Run! Get out!_

I didn't want to die. I didn't.

But then again…if I didn't…would there be a story to tell?

I stumbled into the Rotunda, looking up into the oculus to see the brightening stars splayed out against a night sky, a sky that seemed as smooth as velvet.

I had stood in this room early in the morning hours, admiring the rising dawn that peeked through the domed ceiling and lit a small spotlight of beauty in the center of the beautifully tiled floor. I was shocked at how differently I felt now in the same room. How different the circumstances were…

I headed towards a vestibule that led out to the nearest entrance of the Palace, limping across the ominously lit room. I neared the center of the room when I heard a loud bang resonate across the domed hall. I covered my ears with my hands, but a strong hand suddenly came out of no where and cruelly grasped my wrist in a ruthless seize.

I looked up to see a sandy-haired man—the same man I recognized as Andrei's killer—and screamed. Not in fear, but in absolute outrage that I was inches away from one of my brother's murderers and I was unarmed and completely unprepared for it. In a blind fury, my hand clenched into a fist and swung at his jaw. He swore in frustration and in response placed his hand around my neck and squeezed. I clawed at his arm, but I'm sure it didn't hurt him. He slammed me against a stone pillar, the impact bruising my back as the ridged stone bit into my shoulders.

The man, who I noticed was no older than Alexei, loomed over me and glared at me with cold, unwavering blue eyes.

"You _destroyed_ us!" he growled at me, his voice a menacing whisper. "You pounded us to fine powder, yet here you are—singing your songs of freedom and hope in such a lost place!"

His hand clenched steadily around my neck, crushing against my airway, but despite that, I was able to choke out one desperate word.

"No!"

"You liar!" he roared. My eyes widened as I realized the brutal truth. Yes, I would die tonight. All the little promises I made to myself throughout this horrendous experience was worthless. I would not live. I would not escape the Palace with my family because my family was very well dead. So now, I was to follow in suit.

That truth hit me full force and suddenly, in a terrified flash, I remembered Mildred's last words to me.

"I surrender! I surrender! _Ya sdat'!_ _Ya sda't!_" I screamed the words at the top of my lungs, but all it got me was his hand twisting tighter around my throat, cutting me off in mid-scentence.

"You don't deserve to live!" he bellowed. "None of you do!"

I tried to scream in surrender again, but what came out were strangled gasps. Before I knew what was happening, he brought my entire body forward and slammed it back against the wall. The collision against the stone banged against my head and a very foreign pain bloomed across my skull. It burned like hell, but it wasn't enough to make me cry out in pain. He slammed my body again against the stone pillar. This time, the force of the blow cracked against the back of my head and spine. It felt as if my head was about to explode and I couldn't hear anymore. Everything had gone dissonantly silent, but I could still see.

Through the black and blue spots that blemished my line of vision, it was as if I saw the events fold out before my eyes, as if I were a stranger watching from a distance.

The young man, still keeping his stubborn grip on my neck, brought my body forward for a final time. With a furious vigor mightier than Hercules and a speed faster than light and wind, he smashed my head into the solid stone pillar with an impossible strength, cracking it against the concrete column.

* * *

I knew I died immediately because I can't remember anything after that.

Everything was before me, and just as quickly, it was torn away from me. My vision, my hearing, my voice—it was all gone in a single second. Now, I was just another body count. Another casualty amongst the dying Argonovs.

There was no bright light before me. No singing angels opened the Gates of Paradise to me. No blissful memories of earlier times.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

But, I remember a distant voice calling out to me. My mother's voice.

She was saying my name, weaving it into a verse of an old lullaby that had been sung to us since we were children…

_Don't walk into the darkness, little Kira, don't ever leave…_

_For if you do, my heart will never mend…_

_Come back to me, little Kira, on winter's eve…_

_Come back to me before your warmth comes to an end…_

* * *

_ Ya sdat' - "I surrender" _


End file.
